


Unexpected

by sahiya



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-11
Updated: 2009-12-11
Packaged: 2017-10-04 08:27:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahiya/pseuds/sahiya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Olivia shows up on Giles's doorstep post-Chosen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unexpected

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday, [](http://kivrin.livejournal.com/profile)[**kivrin**](http://kivrin.livejournal.com/)! *hugs*

Twice now, Giles had expected never to see Olivia again - after Sunnydale and the Gentlemen, and then again after he'd walked out on her in Edinburgh after taking Willow's phone call about Buffy's resurrection. He'd assumed that his actions then had killed any hope of anything substantial ever growing between them, and when he returned to England three months later, he'd been in no position to begin anything with anyone.

Clean, simple grief was one thing; even in their very few meetings after Buffy's death, Olivia had shown herself willing and able to help him through that, and a budding romance might have been just the thing to bring him through the horror of Sunnydale and out the other side. But his second return was different. He was still half-grieving, though for what he didn't know, and terrified that he'd made an awful mistake in leaving Sunnydale. His desire to turn around and go back was so strong, he couldn't possibly make a home for himself in England.

He didn't call her. He knew she must have found out through mutual friends that he was back, and she didn't call him either. Olivia was never one to wait to be chased, so he assumed her silence meant she didn't want to see him. He could hardly blame her.

He put her on the list of things he'd lost and moved on - to a year of Bringers and brutally murdered watchers, to frightened slayers and airplanes and jet lag, to a monster they couldn't touch but who proved itself infinitely capable of touching them in the ways that counted most. Giles lost himself somewhere in the midst of it all, and he didn't find himself again for nearly a year, not until long after he'd come back to England for the third and - he hoped - final time.

His home outside Bath was filled with slayers by then, not to mention a handful of watchers in training. Giles lived in the caretaker's cottage for some semblance of privacy, but people streamed in and out of his door at all hours. Mostly they just barged in, especially if they were accompanied by any of the Sunnydale survivors, but some of the younger slayers had yet to be be stripped of all manners and did knock before entering.

Giles was just sitting down to tea one evening in late spring when one such knock came. He stood to answer it, thinking it might be Tilde, their newest slayer. She'd only arrived last week from Hamburg and English was proving a much bigger problem for her than the training. Giles's German was near fluent, and she'd started coming to him with training questions. He half-suspected she was making up the questions to have something to talk to him about, just to hear the cadences of her native tongue every few days and give her overwhelmed brain a rest.

The last person he expected to see when he answered the door was Olivia.

She was as beautiful as ever. Clean, smooth. Giles had been pottering in his little garden, a project he kept up in his non-existent free time, and felt instantly grubby. "Olivia," he managed, wondering how many streaks of dirt he had on his face.

"Rupert," she returned, leaning against the doorjamb. Her leather trench coat just barely brushed the tops of her suede boots. Leather, suede, cashmere, silk for her more intimate garments - Olivia's tastes were impeccable. And expensive. "How are you?"

"I'm well," he said, surreptitiously wiping his hands on his jeans. "You?"

"Quite well, thank you. May I come in?"

"Oh!" He stood aside. "I was about to have tea - just sandwiches, but if you're hungry, I can certain make you something up."

"That would be lovely, thank you. The train ride from Edinburgh was horrid - we got delayed outside York, and then the last leg from London was packed with tourists."

Giles grimaced and withdrew a chair from his kitchen table for her. She set her small valise on the floor, shrugged out of her coat, and folded herself into the chair with her customary grace. He could not help but think what an uncommonly beautiful woman she was; he'd never been able to pin down her attraction to him, though their compatibility in bed certainly had something to do with it. "It's the time of year. It'll only get worse till about the end of the September. Is cheese and salad all right with you?"

"Whatever you're having, Rupert."

He hadn't put anything away yet. He cut two thick slices of the good whole grain bread he'd bought that day from the bakery in town and spread them both with a thin layer of butter. Best to get straight to the point, perhaps. "What brings you here, Liv? I can't imagine you've a photoshoot in Bath." The town had lovely, ancient yellow stone buildings and some of the best landscaping in Britain, but he couldn't imagine it would attract the sorts of photographers who did the glossy, ultra modern fashion spreads Olivia was usually in.

She laughed. "No, I came to see you."

Her frankness made him fumble the knife he was slicing the cheese with. He hardly felt it in his shock, but when he next glanced down at his hand, a long, thin cut had appeared across his palm. Blood welled up and he swore, reaching for the sink. He ran the water cold and held his hand under it, letting it flush out the wound. He kept his back to her, cursing his clumsiness. Whatever had brought her here, he was certain she was questioning it now. Clumsy Rupert. Stammering Rupert. Shy, geeky Rupert with his secret life that wasn't glamorous or sexy, just dangerous and deadly.

"Here."

He'd closed his eyes while berating himself; now he opened them and found her standing beside him, a clean tea towel in her hands. She enfolded his hand in it, putting pressure on the wound, and led him over to the table to sit. "Where do you keep the first aid kit?"

"In the loo," Giles said, gesturing with his good hand. She vanished inside for a moment, then returned with rubbing alcohol and bandages. She sat down, spread the towel on her lap, and balanced his hand palm up on her knee.

Neither of them spoke as she cleaned and bandaged the cut, with the same graceful efficiency he remembered her doing anything she set her mind to. He watched the quick, fluid movements of her hands and felt something stirring in the back of his mind. And elsewhere, too, truth be told. Their old chemistry at work. Sense-memory. She hadn't changed her perfume since their last encounter.

"Liv, what are you doing here?"

She didn't answer till she'd taped on the last bandage. Then she sat back and looked at him. "I heard from Arthur you were back."

He frowned, trying not to make his next statement sound recriminatory. "You didn't call last time."

"Neither did you," she pointed out.

"I thought . . . well, I assumed you didn't want to see me."

She reached out and touched his cheek with the backs of her fingers. "Silly Rupert. You've always assumed too much." She sat back again, folded the towel, and laid it on the table next to the little pile of bandage detritus. "Arthur also told me you were running a girls' boarding school. _That_ I didn't credit till I saw it for myself."

"Ah. Well. They're not exactly your, er, typical teenage girls."

"So I figured. They're like Buffy, aren't they?"

"No one is quite like Buffy," Giles replied, smiling fondly. "But yes, essentially."

Olivia seemed to hesitate. It was a strange expression on her. "Is she here?" she asked at last.

"Rome, actually. Until the end of the month." All to the good, really. Buffy and Olivia had got off on the wrong foot - entirely Giles's own fault, of course - and Buffy had never really got over it. He and Buffy always had been a little strange about each other's lovers; he tried not to think too hard about that most of the time, but in this case it meant he wanted some time to warn her. _If_ something came of this, of course. He still didn't understand what Olivia intended with this visit, but the way she was looking at him - dark eyes smiling, a quirk to one perfectly sculpted eyebrow - made him feel cautiously optimistic.

"Speaking of Italy," Giles said impulsively, "there's a place in town that serves the best pasta this side of Florence. Care to join me? Since I've made a complete hash of the sandwiches."

She smiled. "Thought you'd never ask."

Mindful of the soil on his shirt, he changed his clothes and scrubbed his face. Then he helped her on with her coat and took her arm as they left his cottage and strolled up the path through the grounds. The sun was beginning to set, reaching streaky orange fingers down through the oak trees. They paused at the top of the path to watch Kennedy and Vi sparring for a captive audience of much smaller slayers. As they watched, Kennedy fell, rolled with it, and sprang back to her feet, all in one fluid move. The younger slayers applauded.

Watching them, and not looking at Olivia, it was easier for Giles to ask, "Have you decided it's not too dangerous, then?"

It was a moment before Olivia answered. "I'm not sure yet," she said at last. "But I've decided it's worth finding out." He glanced at her and found her studying him closely, eyes squinted against the setting sun. "Is that enough for you?"

He took her hand. "Yes," he said. "I think it can be."

_Fin._


End file.
